


persist

by epsiloneridani



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, mentions of augmentations, mentions of medical trauma, spartan program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Not all of the Threes made it through augmentations unscathed. Kurt has a decision to make.What’s wrong? What’s right?When humanity's facing annihilation, how do you weigh a ten year old’s life?





	persist

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mentions of augmentation process and any medical trauma that might imply

"How are they?"

Mendez doesn't answer. He's standing with his arms folded, staring out across the recovery ward where the newly-augmented Spartan Threes have barely just woken up. After all they've endured already some of them are trying to stand, trying to stumble around.

Stubborn as hell.

"They're alive," Mendez says at last. He tilts his head just enough to catch Kurt's gaze. Kurt grimaces. Mendez mirrors it. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have to.

_You have a decision to make._

Not for the first time, he wishes he didn't -- wishes Mendez was the ranking officer, wishes someone else could tell him the right thing to do.

"I know."

The washouts have already been moved to a separate facility, isolated, apart. It makes Kurt's chest ache, remembering the others he was told died, remembering the others he never saw again alive. He keys his card at the door, nods at the attendant, and slips by.

Some of them are in wheelchairs, some of them are lying down like they’re dead, some of them look fine, but he looks into their eyes and knows something deep inside them has died.

They can never be Spartans.

"You're one man short," Kurt says to the closest medical officer. They motion to another door without a word.

It's the physical therapy section of the facility, dark but for the faint light streaming through the windows. It's just enough to make out the figure in the corner, struggling along between the double rails, struggling to stand.

Kurt's chest aches.

"He's been there since he woke up," the nurse supplies on her way by, a burst of information that propels him into the room.

Jun's one of the youngest, four years old when he was conscripted, barely ten now, and for all the training and augmentation he still seems so small.

"Jun," Kurt says quietly. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer -- can't answer. His arms are taut; his entire body is shaking. He gasps a heave, lifts a foot and forces a step, forces himself to move.

Jun's augmentations succeeded -- to an extent. Kurt can still see the med-team swarming around him, struggling to keep him alive, can still see him coughing and convulsing and screaming, fighting to get up, fighting to get  _out_.

Stubborn as hell.

"Jun," Kurt repeats. "Stop."

Even in the gloom the pain in his face is impossible to miss. His eyes are squeezed shut; the streams tracking their way down his cheeks could be sweat or tears.

Kurt dares a step forward at the same instant Jun takes three more. Too fast. Too much.

He's just in time to catch him.

"Let  _go,_ " Jun growls, thrashing and writhing, vicious and desperate. " _Let go!"_

"You can barely stand," Kurt says calmly, though he eases his grip. "You're supposed to be resting."

" _No_. I have to--"

"Jun, it's over."

" _No_ ," Jun repeats. His chest is heaving, eyes wide and seething. "No. No.  _No_."

"You can still help the others. You can--"

Jun shoves away so quickly he can't stop him, stumbling drunkenly for a few feet like it's the first time he's ever walked. He slams to a stop against the wall, clinging to it to stay upright. "No," he snarls, lifting one trembling finger to refute. "I am a Spartan."

Trained as one. Raised to be one. And then -- augmentations. And now -- Kurt doesn't know. "Jun," he says, pitching his tone to soothe.  _Easy. It's all right._  "You'll still be useful. You can still make a difference."

"No." Jun's voice cracks. His legs are trembling violently; his grip on the wall's frame spasms, spasms. "I am a  _Spartan_."

Kurt's seen the scans; the medics are skeptical he'll ever fully recover. The report called the complications close to crushing. "You can still help," he says again. "But this part is done."

"No."

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"I don't  _care_ ," Jun hisses. His breath hitches. "I don't -- care."

"Jun, it's over."

"They said there's a chance. If I keep trying I can--"

"Make sure you'll never be able to move again."

"Adapt," Jun grits out. "They said I could--"

Hurt himself worse. Either pushing it forces his body to accept the augmentations or causes them to completely paralyze him -- maybe kill him.

Spartan or not, right now he's still  _alive._

Kurt sighs, folding his hands in front of him so he can't draw them into fists. "If you do this, you could end up dead."

"I know."

He's ten. How could he?

"You will  _not_  die for nothing," Kurt barks.

"It's my life," Jun snaps. "It's my choice."

"You don't have a choice, Jun." None of them ever did. Necessary. Saviors of humanity. It hurts his heart to think about it. So many dead and gone. And now these kids. And now the Threes. Jun's the best sniper in his class, but does that weigh his life?

Wrong. Right. He doesn't know anymore.

"I can do this," Jun says, so low, trembling but so strong, scared but so brave. He lifts his head and his eyes sing steel. "And I am going to."

Stubborn as hell.

Kurt locks hisjaw _._

Decide.

"Alpha Company ships in two weeks," he says, and though it comes out steady his heart is pounding, pulsing, racing. Ten years old. Wrong. Right. "That's your time-frame. If you're not cleared by then, you will be transferred with the others."

Jun nods, sharp, short, and struggles along the wall to the bars. Shuffle. Step. Step. Step. Kurt watches until he has to go. Ten years old.

Ten years old.

\----

"Congratulations on your graduation."

Jun's unmoving, unreadable but for the flash of pride in his eyes. "Thank you, sir," he returns, and Kurt knows he means it more than he says.

"Good luck, Spartan," Kurt says. Jun tugs his helmet on and snaps off a salute before spinning and striding toward the ship that will take him to the front -- take him to ONI. Kurt hesitates, hesitates, and then calls out.

"Halt!"

Jun stops immediately and whirls to at-attention. Waits. Waits. Why did he stop him? He doesn't know. Something burns deep in his chest. "You've done well," Kurt says at last, and it feels more strained than it should.

"Thank you, sir."

"Stay alive." Kurt doesn't know where he's going. He only knows it's ONI's directive, only knows it'll be somewhere in the center of hell. "Understood?"

"Spartans never die," Jun says coolly.

There's nothing more he can do. There's nothing more he can say.

"Dismissed."

Jun turns and marches away. The ramp hisses closed behind him. Kurt watches the shuttle lift off, watches it fly.

Ten years old.

He marches back to Currahee. There's another company to train, another armada to raise. He should be thinking of Beta, should be thinking of drills and pain, but it's Alpha that weighs on his mind.

They're all stubborn as hell but no matter how hard he trained them, no matter how hard he tries, he can't help but feel like he's just sent them to die.

\----


End file.
